Life Lessons
by Sinister Tomato
Summary: With such an expansion of neverending life lessons, Edward wondered if life was also just one huge lesson in itself. generic, introspective


Disclaimer: If I owned Full Metal Alchemist, all hell would break loose. So no, I don't own it.

Spoilers: Only if you haven't seen episodes 50 and 51. For those that watch only the dubs, it would be 27 and beyond.

A/N: Edward reflects on lessons he's come by through the years. This is all in a third-person version of Edward's view, so it's only natural that the parts about Alphonse's sacrifice are unknown to him. A one-shot vignette. Constructive criticism would help, thanks.

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The heart can hurt even when there is no actual physical damage. His father taught him that, just when he was barely a year old. The old man left him and his mother and his baby brother, though at the time, little Edward couldn't discern why. The only thing clear to him was the cringing of his heart as the screen door shut behind his 'papa'.

In the morning, his mama cried quietly in the kitchen as she fixed breakfast over an unlit stove. Hidden behind the pantry door, little Edward watched her crack eggs onto the pan as her shoulders shook with sobs. The piercing shriek of his baby brother's echoing cry from upstairs prompted the young mother to run to her youngest son while dabbing her eyes with her apron.

Instantly, the siren that was baby Alphonse ceased his wailing, and the house became eerily bathed in silence. Curious, Edward crawled carefully, stair by each elevated stair. Finally, he reached the top floor and continued his journey to his shared room with Alphonse. As he peaked around the doorframe, he felt his stomach lurch.

In his mother's arms was his baby brother. She buried her head into the being's tiny shoulder as her whole frame shook with muffled cries. As for the baby boy, he stared blankly into his big brother's eyes, having no idea of the situation.

The scene was forever branded into little Edward's mind.

At two years of age, little Edward learned the concept of speech. His first word was "mama". His second was "Alphonse" or rather, "Arufonsu". Basic words came easy for him. It wasn't until the age of four that he learned the word "papa", and even then he settled for a more formal version of the word; "father". Later on, he used the words "old man".

At the age of three, his mother taught him the fundamental basics; reading, writing, and basic math. From there, little Edward taught himself to read alchemical texts with his little brother, and discovered the all-knowing encyclopedias and dictionaries.

At the age of four, the beginner's book of Alchemy taught him how to perform his first transmutation. He and his brother manipulated dust, and created a doll for their friend and neighbor, Winry. The process scared her, though they assured her there was nothing to be afraid of.

At five, he experienced the pain of a frying pan as it collided with his skull. Old woman Pinako was not in the best of moods, and attempting to steal her chocolate chip cookies had been a grave mistake. The bloated lump sat on his head for days before it finally began to deflate on the eighth day.

At the age of six, he witnessed the effects of death through Winry. Her parents were killed in the Eastern Rebellion. He began to fear his mother's death. That afternoon, he ran and held onto his mother, making small anguished noises in his throat as he buried his golden head into her apron.

At ten, consumption murdered his mother, and death claimed her. The death failed to teach him anything, only fueled his desire to revive his mother, and best his father.

Izumi imparted an important lesson that he and Alphonse had to survive to learn: All is one, and one is me. They were all pieces of a bigger picture, and it was these miniscule pieces that made up the big picture. He was nothing compared to the billions of others, and though a million break off, another million are placed in.

At eleven, he learned that playing God was best left to God. His foolishness cost him his brother's body and his two limbs. But the price went beyond the physical. What he gained was a mass of deformed and mutilated flesh, metallic limbs, a soulful suit of armor, and the knowledge to use alchemy without an array.

During his travels to all corners of Amestris, the knowledge that he had defied the Gods and failed only made him more persistent to defy them again, to regain what he and his brother had lost.

His years with Mustang taught him never to judge a book by it's cover. As if young Edward had anything else to judge by when it came to the egotistical colonel. His first glimpse of a human conscience underneath all that conceited shit taught him that some books were harder to open than others. During their last meeting, he understood that even the most composed of people concealed a torrent of turmoil all their own.

He also realized that Mustang and himself possessed an infinite amount of differences, and that made his innards somersault. He didn't want to be Mustang, and he was sure the feeling was mutual, even if the reasons weren't.

When Lior radiated a luminescent crimson glow, the only thought in his mind was to protect the senseless soldiers. When he ran out to inspect the mound of hot, powdery sand, he hadn't expected to dig out his little brother. When the armor detached his chest plate, young Edward cursed the irony of fate. They traveled the length of the continent, and they finally found what they were searching for.

On that sweltering day, he gathered with a deep scowl etched on his features that fate had a very aggravating sense of humor.

With the revelation of Hughes's death, he felt anger. He had the right to know, but the fact was concealed. Worst of all, Mustang, the so-called best friend of the late Brigadier General, refused to kill the one responsible; to take revenge. That night, he found it difficult to ascertain that to be an adult, such a privilege must not be exercised.

Mustang traded in his rights to vengeance for adulthood. Later, young Edward finally understood.

At sixteen, in an underground theater hall, he experienced death and revival firsthand. Alphonse used his body to revive him, and he had dissipated and vanished. So, Edward exchanged his own body and soul for Alphonse's body and soul. The two crossed The Gate and fought past the clammy shadows, and left for opposite sides.

Now, here he was, cheek propped up by the palm of his hand, elbow resting on the windowsill in a flat in Munich, 1921. He didn't feel particularly thrilled at first about sharing a flat with his estranged father, otherwise known as Hohenheim of Light, but the view was nice, or at least it was high enough to overlook a good portion of the city. It surveyed the tops of many buildings and smokestacks. The war had torn this "Germany" apart.

The atmosphere of the world he was currently trapped in was darker. Perhaps it was because of the war, or maybe it was just a dark world. He remembered his home world being brighter, more alive. The sky in Munich was a contrasting sea of gray to the clear expanse of blue of his home. He missed it, and everyone in it.

Dante's words stuck to his eardrums like blood to exposed flesh. He denied them, tried to drown them out, refused to accept them. Then he gave in, and committed to memory the last lesson he was forced to understand in his world.

Equivalent exchange wasn't equal by a long shot.

The law of alchemy referred to the equivalence of mass, the amount of space an object takes up. But how does a person measure the sacrificial item if it isn't measurable at all? How does a person weigh months of gained knowledge to a silver pocket watch?

Edward had seen friends and enemies alike sacrifice things to gain something more or less than what they lost, but rarely was there ever an equivalent, if at all. Was the exchange for his brother's body and soul equivalent? He wouldn't know. Since Edward lost his arm again, what would Alphonse have lost? If what Alphonse had lost wasn't substantial, than could it be called an "equivalent exchange"?

Such a concept did not exist, but Edward wanted to bask in the childish view of it, to return to a time when he did believe in it. For once in his life, he wanted to be a child, to be naïve and ignorant of the realities of the world.

But, he ceased being a child long ago. He was no longer little, and young only in body. He couldn't pinpoint the exact moment when his mind lost it's raw and adolescent glow; when it was that innocence waned.

Edward's first lesson in the world beyond The Gate: Ignorance was bliss.


End file.
